


birthday on a sunday

by tropicalcap



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Bucky Fest 2019, Bucky Is Bad At Choosing Cakes, Dirty Talk, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Old Married Couple, Top Steve Rogers, happy birthday bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 05:35:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18067568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tropicalcap/pseuds/tropicalcap
Summary: “Just gonna run to the grocery store,” Steve says, leaning in to kiss him once more. “Wanna get something to make you for dinner, later.”“You’re gonna get me fat, Rogers,” Bucky grumbles, finding some strength to sit up on the mattress. “I’ll come with.”“What’s wrong with fat?” Steve humors him by asking, knows Bucky won’t reply because there really isn’t anything wrong with fat. Steve will love him anyway. “And no, stay. Have a lazy day, let me take care of you.”“I want to go,” Bucky presses on, already walking towards their bathroom. “Give me ten minutes.”Or, the one where it's Bucky's birthday and he meets someone new.





	birthday on a sunday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblu/gifts).



> Hello, and happy birthday, Bucky!
> 
> This is my entry for Bottom Bucky Fest 2019, and I'm still surprised I finished on time. This isn't beta-read and English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes.
> 
> I'm not 100% sure about this, so pleeeease let me know your thoughts, guys!
> 
> (Also, I have no idea where this title came from. I'm bad at them.)
> 
> Enjoy :) x

Bucky wakes up to a cold bed and the faint smell of coffee permeating his and Steve’s apartment.

He rolls out of bed, groggy and squinting against the soft morning light streaming through the blinds. The time on his phone reads it’s a few minutes past nine, which means Steve’s already gone on his run, showered and started on laundry, just like every Sunday. The only difference is that today, he’s making breakfast instead of reading in bed while Bucky slept, which means it’s a special day.

And it _is_ a special day, because Bucky’s another year older. His body may not show it, but it sure as hell feels like he’s been on this earth for entirely way too long. Still, every day gets easier to deal with as time goes by, and having Steve and Sam and Clint and Nat and everyone else around him has helped exponentially.

He only hopes next year he’ll still think the same.

The kitchen floor is cold under Bucky’s feet, and he walks quickly up to Steve at the stove. He plasters himself to Steve’s naked back, Bucky’s own bare chest welcoming the skin-to-skin contact. Bucky wraps his arms low on Steve’s waist, presses a quick kiss to the back of his neck, nuzzles into the short hairs there.

“You were supposed to stay in bed,” Steve’s voice is a low rumble, moving sweet and familiar through Bucky’s veins.

Bucky grins against Steve’s skin, pinches his adbomen, making Steve yelp. “We can go back to bed, if you want.”

It’s not an innocent offer, not in the slightest— Bucky’s flesh hand moving further down to palm Steve’s length through his sweatpants can attest to that. Steve’s hips jolt, and he hisses something about the bacon he’s frying and the grease and the fire, but Bucky really doesn’t care. There’s only one thing in his mind right now— his birthday present.

“Buck,” Steve sighs, exasperated, but it doesn’t stop him from pushing into Bucky’s touch. “‘M tryna do somethin’ nice here.”

So considerate, Bucky’s fella. Too bad (for Steve) Bucky knows just where to poke him to distract him.

“Y’always do nice things for me,” Bucky kisses down Steve’s spine, smiles when he feels a shiver run through Steve’s body. “‘S why I love you.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, voice gone breathy. “It’s not because of my charming personality or my boyish good looks? Not even because of my dick?”

Bucky nips at Steve’s shoulder blade, sneaking his hand into Steve’s pants and giving his cock a rough stroke. Steve exhales, long and loud, and Bucky hums. “It _is_ a pretty dick.”

“‘S more than pretty,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Bucky smiles, swipes his thumb around the head of Steve’s dick, spreading the wetness there. The weight of him on Bucky’s hand, hot and pulsing, makes Bucky’s mouth water. “‘S big, and long, and thick...“

Bucky tightens his grip on the last word, sneaking his metal hand up on Steve’s chest to play with his nipples. He gets the desired reaction— Steve pushing his ass back into him, grinding on Bucky’s dick, which has been hard ever since he woke up to find Steve in all his beefcake glory, making him breakfast on his goddamn birthday.

Bucky doesn’t remember the last time he was so happy. Or horny.

“Buck,” Steve groans, hanging his head. He rests his weight on the oven door handle, and Bucky worries for a moment that they might have to replace the whole thing over a moment of weakness. “The food. It’s gonna burn.”

“Turn off the stove then, dumbass,” Bucky leans up, trapping Steve’s earlobe between his teeth, soothing the sting of the bite with his tongue. “Let’s go back to bed.”

There’s the click of the burner dial turning off, then Steve’s turning around in Bucky’s arms and capturing his lips in a filthy, wet kiss.

“Here I was, trying to do something nice for my fella on his birthday,” Steve murmurs against his lips. He runs his hands down Bucky’s body, his back, fingers slotting against his ribcage and settling on his hips. Steve wedges a leg between Bucky’s own, pulling him in by the hips. “Won’t even let me treat him to breakfast in bed.”

“What’s nicer than lettin’ me sit on your lap and lettin’ me ride you ‘til we’re both boneless and fucked-out?” Bucky asks, rutting himself on Steve’s thigh. Something rough and animalistic escapes Steve’s mouth, and the sound reverberates in Bucky’s bones. “Sounds like a great birthday present, if you ask me.”

“Well,” Steve nips at Bucky’s bottom lip, moaning into the brunette’s mouth when Bucky’s hand moves to grip his ass, the two of them grinding on each other almost desperately. “I didn’t ask.”

“Shut up,” Bucky mutters, pushing Steve’s pants down and _jesus they’re still wearing pants—_

Steve pulls back, halting Bucky’s hands on him. Bucky pouts, but then Steve leans back in, cupping Bucky’s face and running his thumbs over his cheekbones. Bucky’s eyelashes flutter, and he loses himself for a moment.

“I love you,” Steve smiles, something so sweet and intimate. Something hot flashes in Bucky’s belly. “Happy birthday, old man.”

“I love you too, ya big oaf,” Bucky chuckles, leans up on his tiptoes to kiss Steve, quick and chaste. “Now shut up and take me to bed.”

 

**—**

 

Three hours and countless orgasms later, Bucky’s sore in all the best ways. He’s also satiated, that deep fire inside him tamed for at least a few hours.

Bucky slips in and out of consciousness as Steve removes himself from Bucky’s back, the both of them sticky and sweaty. He hears the shower turn on, then comes back to when it turns off, and listens to Steve padding around the room. There’s the shuffle of clothes, their walk-in closet light turning on and off, then Steve leans in to kiss Bucky, still fuck-stupid and lethargic on the mattress.

“Where ya goin’?” Bucky asks, words slurred, his tongue still not working properly. He looks up at him from the eye that’s not smushed onto a pillow, and sees Steve smile.

“Just gonna run to the grocery store,” Steve says, leaning in to kiss him once more. “Wanna get something to make you for dinner, later.”

“You’re gonna get me fat, Rogers,” Bucky grumbles, finding some strength to sit up on the mattress. “I’ll come with.”

“What’s wrong with fat?” Steve humors him by asking, knows Bucky won’t reply because there really isn’t anything wrong with fat. Steve will love him anyway. “And no, stay. Have a lazy day, let me take care of you.”

“I _want_ to go,” Bucky presses on, already walking towards their bathroom. “Give me ten minutes.”

Twenty minutes later — Bucky’s always been bad at keeping time — they’re walking down the same Brooklyn streets they’ve always known, hand in hand. It’s a nice day out, sunny but not too hot, and there aren’t that many people out and about, so their chances of being recognized during their ten minute walk are pretty slim. Bucky wouldn’t mind it, though.

He’s in good spirits today. His birthday hasn’t always been his favorite celebration of the year — July fourth and Christmas always take the cake for him, mostly because Steve gets spectacularly drunk on both days — but today has been just what he’s always wished for, for a birthday. Bucky has a man that loves him, cooks for him, and pushes him to have a lazy day no matter how much Bucky puts up a fight about it.

It’s not a bad way to celebrate one-hundred-and-two.

Steve makes a beeline to the butcher’s section of the grocery store as soon as they walk in. Bucky tries to follow, but he’s pushed in the direction of the other aisles to find something sweet for dessert.

“I’m the one the meal’s for,” Bucky argues as Steve literally, physically pushes him away before he orders the meat. He stays put, arms crossed over his chest. “I should have a say as to what I wanna eat, dontcha’ think?”

“Yeah, but _I’m_ the one that’s cooking,” Steve huffs, adopting Bucky’s same defensive stance. They really are made for each other. “It’s my present for you, after all, so you can’t know what it is ‘til I’m ready to give it to you.”

Bucky smirks, leans in and whispers, “thought you already gave it to me.”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve sputters, eyes darting around like Bucky just revealed government information and there’s a CIA agent standing by. “You can’t say stuff like that in public!”

Bucky cackles all the way to the bakery section of the grocery store.

Steve always looks so pretty when he’s all flushed— during sex, after a workout, from embarrassment. Bucky’s absolute favorite is when _he’s_ the one that makes him blush like that. Red spreads from the tip of his ears down to his abdomen, and Bucky fucking _loves_ it.

_Not something to think about in a grocery store, Barnes._

The bakery’s pretty empty for a Sunday afternoon, which is weird, but Bucky’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He takes his time to look over the different cakes on display, and is debating on if he wants to celebrate with carrot or double-fudge cake this year, when he feels something tug at his jeans.

Looking down, Bucky finds a pair of big, brown eyes staring up at him. They shine with childlike wonder, and Bucky’s heart melts. Looking closer, he notices a prosthetic peeking out from the shorts the girl is wearing.

“Are you lost, sweetie?” Bucky asks, crouching down to look at the kid in the eye. “Who are you here with?”

The kid doesn’t look older than five— though maybe that’s stretching it because Bucky’s never been good at guessing children’s ages. They all seem to look the same to him from ages three to ten.

“You have pretty hair,” the girl says. “It’s just like my mommy’s.”

“Why, thank you,” Bucky smiles. Compliments from kids are hard to come by, and he knows they’re as honest as their insults can be. “You have pretty hair, too.”

Bucky leans in to tug lightly on one of the girl’s pigtails and she giggles, taking a step back from him. He stands up and looks around, trying to find where the hell this child came from. They’re the only two people in the whole damn bakery— not even the workers are behind the counter.

He sighs, vowing to come back to his cake debacle, and crouches again to ask the important questions.

“I’m Bucky,” he says, and watches the girl’s eyes move to his metal arm. “What’s your name?”

“Camila,” she mumbles, still distracted by black and gold. “Mommy says my big brother gave me it.”

“Camila— that’s such a pretty name,” Bucky grins. “Do you know where your mommy is?”

Camila shakes her head. “She said to stay next to her but I saw your arm and thought it was pretty, so I came to ask if I could see it.”

When — _if_ — Steve and Bucky have children, he’s going to buy one of those leash backpacks he always sees toddlers wearing in crowded places. He always criticizes the parents of said children, but seeing this little girl in front of him — one who wandered off  _in an empty grocery store_ — he definitely understands them now.

“Why is your arm like that?”

“Well, I was just like you, a long time ago,” Bucky explains. “But I lost an arm instead of my leg. I’m lucky to have some friends that helped me, and they made this really cool prosthetic for me.”

“My mommy said I was born like this,” Camila says, gesturing down to her leg. “Do you have to go for a new one all the time like I do?”

Bucky shakes his head. “This is the only one I have, but I used to have another one. It was shiny, and had a big red star on the shoulder.”

Camila perks up at the mention of the word _shiny_ , but the excitement melts away when he tells her he doesn’t have it anymore so she can’t see it. The joy in her features comes straight back when she asks if she can touch Bucky’s arm and he agrees. The first touch is something soft, unsure, but the child is spurred on by Bucky smiling at her encouragingly.

He flexes his arm and clenches his fist, gold rippling through the gaps in the metal. Camila asks him questions about it, if she could maybe get a leg prosthetic just like his so they can be twins, and Bucky only laughs and shakes his head in amazement. He’s always loved kids, and to have one approach him first and tell him he has pretty hair then lose it over his arm?

This might be his favorite birthday so far.

Bucky’s not sure how much time he spends crouched down there. The only thing that distracts him from Camila’s small hands running over his arm is a relieved sigh of _“Camila!”_

He looks up to find a brunette woman running over to the both of them, the stress melting from her features when she realizes Bucky isn’t trying to steal her incredibly cute daughter.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes once she reaches them. “She just ran off and I didn’t even notice! I hope she didn’t bother you too much.”

Bucky goes to tell her that it was no problem, but Camila beats him to the punch and turns to tug at her mom’s pants, her voice shrill and demanding attention.

“Mommy,” she almost yells. “Bucky has an arm just like my leg! And he has pretty hair, just like you!”

It’s a mystery how there’s so much energy contained in such a tiny body. Then again, Bucky _did_ grow up with Steve. Too many were the days where Bucky had to deal with a coked-up, justice-seeking chihuahua and his endless buoyancy.

“I can see that, baby,” the mom laughs, smiling at Bucky. She leans down to run a hand down Camila’s back and nods towards him. “Now, say bye-bye to Bucky. We need to go home to daddy and your brother.”

Camila pouts up at her mom, but she straightens her features after her mom quirks an eyebrow.

Bucky’s been on the receiving end of such a look many times. Mostly from Steve.

Camila turns to him and raises her arms. She says “Buckyyy,” in the softest, most heart-wrenching voice, and Bucky can’t help but pick her up and hold her close.

“Thank you for keeping me company, you’re such a bright girl, and I really enjoyed our conversation,” Bucky murmurs, smiling at the way the child nuzzles into his neck. He pulls back to look at her, eyes soft and understanding all at once. “Don’t forget how strong you are, Camila, and keep doing your hair pretty just like this.”

“Thank you, Bucky,” Camila’s mom says once more, coming up to take her from Bucky’s arms. “C’mon, Cami. We need to get going.”

Camila waves goodbye as they walk away. She limps a little, and Bucky wants to cry.

Steve’s voice pulls him out of his emotions. “That was cute.”

“Shut up,” Bucky straightens back up and turns to look at Steve, lips downturned and eyes narrowed slightly. A stark contrast to the open expression he sported for the last ten minutes. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Steve sounds humored, and Bucky really wants to smack him with the grocery basket in his hands. “You’re a bratty, marshmallow-on-the-inside assassin.”

They stare each other down for all of thirty seconds. Steve looks very fucking smug, like he just said the most clever shit in the world, and Bucky’s just glaring at him.

Bucky breaks first.

“She was so _cute_ ,” he whines. Steve opens his arms and Bucky walks into his embrace, his voice muffled against his muscled chest. “She thought my hair was _pretty_ , Steve. I thought about adopting her for a solid five minutes.”

“Good thing she has parents, then,” Steve chuckles. He holds Bucky for a while, kisses his forehead and his hair a few times, runs his hand down Bucky’s flesh arm. “Did you pick a cake?”

“I’m torn between carrot and double fudge,” Bucky sighs, looking up with his chin digging into Steve’s chest. “What do you think?”

“‘S your birthday,” Steve shrugs, looking down at him with the same love and adoration as he always has. “Why not take both?”

A slow grin spreads across Bucky’s lips. He leans in, kisses Steve soft and slow. “You spoil me too much, Rogers.”

“Like you said, you have a reputation to maintain,” Steve pulls back, and places a kiss on Bucky’s face for every part of his reputation he mentions. “Bratty, marshmallow-on-the-inside, _spoiled_ assassin.”

“You love it though,” Bucky points out, steely gray looking into sky blue. Steve leans in again, and Bucky meets him halfway.

“A little bit too much,” Steve hums against his lips, and the words taste true.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://tropicalcap.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
